


i'd lose it all for you

by Anonymous



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Desperation, Kink Meme, M/M, Omorashi, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27249799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Charles is watching him with an intensity that fools no one. He catches the way Erik shifts slightly in place. The way he leans into the desk, seeking relief in the pressure of it. The way he has to work not to squirm in front of Charles. Stubborn, proud, even if he can’t hide anything. Even if he doesn’t want to.[Note: this is an omorashi fic. There is going to be pee. If you don't like it, don't read it!]
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 9
Kudos: 48
Collections: X-Men Kink Meme 2020





	i'd lose it all for you

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [XMen_Kink_Meme_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/XMen_Kink_Meme_2020) collection. 



> Hello! I was happy to see this prompt because... well, I would like more Cherik omo to exist in the world, and this gave me an excuse to write it. Hopefully you like it! Also, I am sorry for the somewhat brief, scattered dialogue. Something I need to improve upon!
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
> Bonus points for:
> 
> • legs being forced apart  
> • leaking  
> • grinding or pressing up against things for some much-needed friction  
> • they’re seconds away from getting relief, but as they’re undoing their pants the irrational part of their brain thinks they’re ready to go, and they start peeing full-force before they can get their clothes out of the way, aim, or even just get into a better position  
> • soft sighs of relief, tiny gasps as they catch their breath when finally letting go  
> • lots and lots of aftercare <3

Erik loves waking up like this, in Charles’ tangle of limbs, verging on too-warm. Loves the way Charles murmurs sleepily, squeezes him more tightly when he begins to extract himself. Releases him, eventually, though the feeling of _happysafeloved_ that follows him as he makes his way to the bathroom.

When he returns, Charles has propped himself up in bed. He looks so soft like this, in the morning’s light; Erik can’t help but kiss him. Charles’ hand comes to cup the back of his neck, threading through the curls that have begun to form at his nape. How Erik wishes they could only linger here, like this, shut out the world. Drown in each other. Charles laughs softly.

“I’m afraid we do have to make a living.”

What he really means is _Good morning, darling._

He watches as Erik dresses for the day. Close-fitting grey briefs, khaki pants that cling to his legs, and a dark, long-sleeved shirt. There’s something thoughtful in his gaze. Deliberating. Erik pauses, raising an eyebrow, and Charles smiles slightly. There’s a faint trace of heat beneath it, though, piquing Erik’s interest.

“Don’t use the toilet today,” he says after a pause. How casually it slips off his tongue.

They do that, sometimes. Erik doesn’t know quite why it’s so thrilling - to have control, to lose it. It’s the release. The inevitable nature of it all. It’s the fullness and the desperation and the way it distracts his mind from itself. It doesn’t matter if it’s Charles, if it’s him. Today, it’s him. He grins in agreement. Leans to kiss Charles again, less gentle this time; a promise.

As he does every morning, he makes himself a thermos of coffee, and Charles a cup of tea. Charles’ first class begins the hour after Erik’s usual shift at the library. By the time he’s leaving, Charles is only just brushing his teeth, attempting to tame his mess of hair.

Erik doesn’t think about the challenge immediately. He prefers to let the feeling sneak up on him, prefers to give into it in shades. He drinks his coffee slowly as he walks to campus. It’s brisk out, cold enough for his long jacket but not enough for a scarf. All in all, the day begins like any other, much of his morning spent putting together a collection on 1950s mutant history. He becomes easily immersed in his work. The solitude. The smell of books. The picture they paint of society’s evolution. 

He has another coffee. Is vaguely aware of a slight need, a twinge in his bladder. It grows, over the next hour, into a quiet pulse, and he allows himself the occasional moment to indulge in the pleasure of it. Shifting in his seat, squeezing his legs together in a way that amplifies the feeling rather than suppresses it. He knows it’ll be the opposite later, as the end of the day draws nearer. Knows he’ll be fighting to keep himself from leaking, from staining the front of his trousers. But for now, for now he can afford to tease himself.

He’s on the front desk, after lunch. He trades coffee for water - despite his growing need, there is a parched feeling in the back of his throat. The desk is tall enough to conceal his occasional fidgeting - as long as he’s moving, organizing the returns, he’s alright. It’s when he’s stationary at the register, scanning someone out, that he begins to shift from foot to foot. He could squeeze himself, but he doesn’t. It isn’t necessary - not yet.

 _ **6/10**_ he texts Charles around one, when he knows he has a break in his schedule. Charles must decide that this isn’t enough - of course he does - because he swings by with a large smoothie and a smile that seems warm until Erik looks closer, until he sees the particular tilt of his lips and something dark in his eye, something anticipatory.

“From that new health place,” he explains, “I know how you like kale and… pineapple.”

“How thoughtful,” Erik replies dryly, but he reaches for it. Takes a long sip. Charles is watching him with an intensity that fools no one. He catches the way Erik shifts slightly in place. The way he leans into the desk, seeking relief in the pressure of it. The way he has to work not to squirm in front of Charles. Stubborn, proud, even if he can’t hide anything. Even if he doesn’t want to.

Charles takes up at a table in Erik’s line of sight, apparently grading papers. But Erik can feel the flicker of awareness pass over him every so often. He drinks the first half of the smoothie quickly, but slows down as his need begins to worsen in earnest. His bladder feels tight, deliciously full. He can’t keep still for long at all, swaying, shuffling, squeezing his legs together as there’s a sudden spike in pressure. He manages to fight away the urge without resorting to holding himself, but the effort leaves him clammy. Distracted. Distantly, he feels Charles’ pleasure, but he knows the other man is keeping it contained. He glances at the clock.

Two hours left.

Charles leaves not long after, looking equal parts excited for what’s to come and regretful that his actual work prevents him from enjoying Erik’s torment in the meantime. Erik still sips at his smoothie, but he knows he’s reaching his limit. He doesn’t want to let pleasure cross over into pain, and he doesn’t want to start pissing here. 

The thought of pissing anywhere reminds his body of its desperation. He can feel the liquid starting to press toward the tip of his cock in a bid for release, and he jerks toward the counter, one hand clamping down on his dick as the other yanks open a drawer, as he tries to pretend he’s only looking for something. He clutches himself for a long moment, until it feels safe enough to release his hold, glancing around quickly to see whether anyone has noticed.

They haven’t.

His breath is coming shorter. When he inhales too deeply, it seems to go straight to his bladder. Holding requires more and more of his attention, so he pulls out some sort of paperwork, pretends to pour over it. Crosses one leg in front of the other, but that isn’t enough. He’s rocking his hips. Pressing into the desk again, grinding his crotch up against the solid wood, hands trembling where he keeps them firmly away from his pants. He’s so full, like a glass filled right to the brim, water tension the only thing keeping it from spilling over. Another wave of desperation washes over him, and his hips shift, knees bending without his bidding, one turning into the other in a fairly obvious pee dance as he’s forced to nearly double over.

How badly he wants that release. And yet he forces his mind away from thoughts of how close the bathroom is, how easy it would be to hurry over to the toilet. Tries to force his body into stillness. The last half hour of his shift is spent like this, a struggle of will against himself. At one point he’s so close to leaking that he needs to drop down into a low squat, pretending he’s dropped a pen, tugging at his dick as piss pulses down toward the tip. He grinds up into the pressure of his fingers, shifting squirming, knuckles white. It’s the scantest miracle that keeps him from maintaining his frayed control, and as he climbs shakily to his feet, he’s fairly certain he isn’t going to be dry by the time he gets home.

As soon as the clock ticks over the end of his shift, he hurries into his jacket, thankful for the cover it provides. He shoves his hands into his pockets, keeping a firm hold of himself as he exits the library. The act of walking makes him feel dangerously loose, but he can’t hobble, can’t bring himself to let anyone on to the extent of his need. He has to focus on taking long, even strides. A passer-by glances oddly at the way his hands are bunched in his coat, and so he’s forced to release his grip, palms pressing flat to his thighs, digging his nails down. 

Charles is waiting beneath an oak tree outside the Genetics building. Smirking. Erik attempts a glare, but he knows it comes off somewhat pathetic. He wants to be home. He wants Charles to undo him. Charles falls into step beside him, hand curling into the crook of his arm. 

“How was your day, darling?”

The bastard.

Erik barely replies, and Charles picks up an idle chatter as they make their way across campus. Almost all of Erik’s attention is focused on not pissing himself, the pressure building in his dick. As they start down the steps, his control suddenly lapses. He can feel the wetness spurt from his tip and he staggers, stopping to clutch at himself, giving Charles a wild look. He doesn’t think it was enough to seep through to his pants, but his desperation has only worsened. Charles licks his lips, waiting for Erik to regain some semblance of dignity.

_Can you make it?_

_I have to._

They move faster, after that. Erik can feel his thighs shaking with the effort of holding back that flood. They’re forced to pause at a crosswalk, and he presses his legs together as best he can. Unbidden, another dribble escapes, a quick, hot burst of piss. He swallows down a moan, only stops the flow by sheer force of will. It’s only two more blocks, but halfway there he needs to slow, another surge threatening, forcing him to stop and curl over himself as Charles rubs his back uselessly. The ache of it is as terrible as it is good. His boxers are notably damp against his skin. Outside of their building, as he waves a hand to unlock the door without patience for Charles’ fumbling with the key, another spasm overtakes him. Piss streams out of him for a second - two. He’s panting, no longer caring if anyone sees him gripping himself, twisting and rutting in place until Charles hauls him through the lobby.

Inside of their flat, he can barely manage to get his jacket undone. Charles bats his hands away and undoes it, button by button, as Erik squirms uncontrollably. As soon as it’s open, he and Charles both look to his crotch. There’s a small wet patch, right near his fly, right above the faint outline of his cock.

“Sit,” Charles says, nudging him toward the couch. His voice is thick. When he removes his own jacket, Erik can see he’s getting hard, the tight fabric of his pants leaving little to the imagination. He does as Charles says, lowering himself onto the couch. Grinding into it as if that might help. 

“Tea?” the man asks.

“Please,” Erik manages. This is what Charles likes; he likes to play normal. Likes to see Erik lose it, bit by bit, while pretending he’s not. Pretending everything is fine. In the privacy of their home, Erik enjoys it, too. There’s something freeing about it. About knowing he won’t make it. About knowing he doesn’t need to.

Charles returns with two cups of tea, pretending not to notice the way Erik can’t keep still. The way his hips lift, unbidden, the way he rocks forward. Charles sets up a chess board between them. Erik gives his cock a small, discreet tug as he scoots forward, playing it off like he’s smoothing at the creases in his pants. Charles’ gaze flickers down. There’s a flush in his cheeks, a brightness in his eyes. He’s so beautiful, always, and especially like this. 

Erik takes minimal sips of his tea. Their game begins. Erik can barely focus, though it seems Charles isn’t faring much better, missing easy openings.

“How is the collection coming?” he asks.

Erik squirms, reaching to push a pawn forward.

“As well as can be expected. There’s a - ah - a distinct lack of documentation as to the more revolutionary ideals of the time…” he bounces slightly, as if shifting into a better position. Charles is eagle-eyed.

“I can imagine those documents would be more difficult to come by - weren’t many of those manifestos destroyed, by the seventies?”

Erik fans his legs slightly against a pulse of desperation. Each sip of tea threatens to spill the whole thing over. 

“That’s only part of it. Some could be acquired, with appropriate funds, but the administration is making it difficult. They don’t want the next generation to… to…” he grits his teeth against a gasp as he leaks again, warm wetness soaking into the fabric of his trousers, spotting and spreading. Tea sloshes over the edge of the cup as he jerkily hunches forward, thighs pressing together, giving his cock a quick squeeze before he remembers himself, pulling his hand away again. “...they don’t want them to pick up those ideals.”

By some miracle, he manages to stop himself. The urge dies down slightly but it doesn’t fade

Normally, Charles would play devil’s advocate, pick up the argument. Instead, his hand brushes briefly over his own cock, fingers dragging along the clothed, hard length of it, before he leans to set his tea cup down. To make his next move.

“You look uncomfortable, darling. Why don’t you relax?”

The words come with a soft brush against Erik’s mind. A request that he relinquish some of his control to Charles. He does with ill-concealed eagerness, and finds himself settling back into the couch, legs spread casually wide. This puts the damp patch - circular, the size of an apple now - on full display. He can feel his dick twitch. He has only his muscles to hold back the flood, and they’re already weakened considerably. There’s a sharp pulse through his bladder, but when he tries, instinctively, to close his legs, they refuse him. A spurt of pee escapes. He can only watch as another spot appears on his dampened trousers.

His breaths come shorter. His fingers knead into his thighs. He won’t lose it, not yet, but he’s getting closer. So close. There’s a quiet terror in allowing Charles so much control over him - literally, figuratively. But the thrill of it is so much better, it’s so much… _more_. He trusts him. He trusts Charles to take care of him, to know his limit, to push him toward it but never, ever over.

The desperation - it’s a close, tangible embodiment of that. 

“How…” he begins, “how was your day?”

His way of telling Charles to continue, just a little while longer. And Charles launches easily into a rundown of the progress on his most recent experiment, and anecdotes from the lab. Things Erik will have to ask about again, later, because he’s so preoccupied with the waves of desperation running through him. He can’t quite keep still, even with Charles holding him in position. His cock feels heavy, hot, full of piss. He feels himself begin to dribble, intermittently; a small spurt here, the occasional drip running off the head. The spot on the front of his pants grows. And still he tries to nod along, hum in amusement. The pressure builds as liquid filters through him.

Charles is lively, explaining something, but he pauses a fraction of a second before a long, hard jet of piss suddenly escapes Erik’s cock. It’s enough to bleed through the fabric, pool, run off. And Erik breaks. Moans. Another stream follows; this one he can’t quite stop on his own. There’s a soft hissing sound, wetness swiftly spreading across his lap before he gives in and uses his hand, shoving it beneath the waistband of his pants to close around his spurting cock.

“I have to go to the toilet,” he tells Charles, who’s already halfway out of his seat. Whose pupils are blown.

“Of course,” Charles says, and releases Erik from his hold. Erik springs up immediately, but he can only hobble forward at this point, and despite his grip on his cock piss is still leaking out, a few small rivulets beginning to run down his legs, leaving dark tracks behind them. Charles follows him, pushes open the bathroom door. The toilet is right there, beckoning to him. Erik stumbles toward it. The bathroom floor is cold; the sensation goes straight to his bladder. Between that, and the anticipation, his stream begins to pick up in earnest. He pulls his hands away, fumbling with the button of his trousers. He’s peeing so hard that it flows almost easily past the barrier of the fabric, spattering onto the floor, down his pant legs, spreading quick and dark. He’s drenched himself in a matter of seconds.

Charles reaches for his hands and pulls them gently away. And then Charles is undoing his fly, but he stands between Erik and the toilet as the puddle grows beneath their feet. He presses his hand to the soaked front of Erik’s briefs. Piss is pulsing out of him. Erik gives up on the toilet, lets himself slump back against the wall as blessed relief floods through him. Charles pushes his briefs down, tugging his cock out. Erik has no control - pee arcs from the tip free of the barrier, spattering himself, spattering Charles until Charles cups a hand over the head to feel the hot pressure of it. He moans, leaning into Erik. It doesn’t matter to him, the way Erik’s wetness pours over them both. And Erik is beginning to sag in relief, panting against Charles’ hair. Charles has shifted, shifted so that his length is pressed to Erik’s wet thigh. Erik tries to press his hand there, against Charles’ bulge, to give him the friction he seeks. Charles takes his hand and shoves it clumsily down his pants. His cock is already slick with precum, hard and pulsing. It’s barely a handjob when Charles comes within moments of Erik touching him, before Erik’s stream has even fully petered out. Erik notices, belatedly, that Charles chose not to wear briefs today, that the damp evidence of his pleasure is apparent on the front of his trousers, too.

Finally, finally, Erik’s stream slows to a dribble. For the first time since that morning, he feels empty, though occasional drips still leave him as Charles helps him out of his soiled clothes, throwing towels down the soak up the pee from the floor. Erik is still coming back to himself as Charles runs the shower, waiting for it to warm before gently guiding him in. 

As spent as he is, Erik is already half hard from the outcome of the day. Charles soaps his hands and lathers them over Erik’s body - strong shoulders, tapered waist, over his thighs and the curve of his bum. Erik’s cock twitches. There’s a different sort of warmth at the base of his stomach, now, a different sort of tightness mounting. Charles lowers himself down to rub his hands over Erik’s legs. Erik reaches to tangle his fingers through Charles’ damp hair, toying with it until Charles gives up on the pretense of washing him and begins to mouth almost lazily at his cock. 

Erik moans, tugs at his hair until Charles shifts to lick at the head. He closes his hand around Erik’s base as he swallows him down, not minding when Erik’s hips stutter forward, fucking up into warm suction of Charles’ mouth. He comes down Charles’ throat as Charles moans around him, riding out his orgasm. By the end of it, he’s loose-limbed and relaxed. They stumble from the shower, wrapped in whatever towels they have left. Order take-out and eat it in bed, leaning against each other. Erik’s arm wrapped around Charles, keeping him close, while Charles feeds him bites of food.

Once they finish their meal, they curl together, speaking in the mix of mind and voice that comes easily when they’re like this, lazy and open. Charles cards his fingers through Erik’s hair, gentle. “You were wonderful today, darling,” he says, words murmured into the skin of Erik’s throat. Erik pulls back just enough to kiss him. There is no bottom to the depth of love he feels, and when Charles blinks up at him it’s with such fondness, such adoration, that Erik nearly blushes. This is why he gives in to him. Why he trusts him so completely. He is safe with Charles, who would never let any harm come to him, who knows him to the very core of his being. The only person who can reach that part of Erik, let alone open it. 

And if, when Erik’s bruised bladder begins to beg for release again, he refuses to get up - if he shifts and squirms and begins to leak into his pajamas before Charles bullies him back into the shower, warm rivulets of piss running down his legs - it’s only because he wants to indulge in the feeling of it another moment longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I really enjoyed writing it. If anyone is interested in more, feel free to leave ideas/prompts in the comments. I would love to do one with Charles as the focus!
> 
> (I am not looking for constructive criticism on this piece)


End file.
